Peanut Butter and Jelly
by Skyskater
Summary: Sam decides to apologize to Leah for what he did. For AmericanPoet. SamLeah, SamEmily, some JacobLeah later on. Enjoy!
1. Bread

**This is for AmericanPoet. Thank you for being soooooooooooo patient! I appreciate it lots!**

**Lol. I'm actually supposed to be reading Great Expectations right now for English...but I've just been inspired by Gregory and the Hawk and Sungha Jung on Youtube. So...yeah. =D **

**So here you go. Here's my attempt at another Twilight challenge.**

**Prompt: Sam's old feelings for Leah come back when Emily is out of town for three weeks.**

* * *

Sam and I, we were like the perfect couple. You know, like those pictures you see in your old high school yearbook of the two perfect people who were just so right for each other that nothing could go wrong, no matter what happened. And I don't mean, like, the couple that breaks up two years later because they've moved on to other people and whatnot. I mean that Sam and I were like the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We just weren't meant to come apart.

Except, of course, like all sandwiches, if pulled hard enough, we did come apart. Like the knife slicing through that perfect square of bread, grape jelly, and peanut butter.

Sam was the peanut butter. I was the grape jelly. I don't really like peanut butter, and I'd like to think that I would have a more vivid impression on a person, like jam on a white shirt. And my cousin Emily, believe it or not, was the knife that came slicing us apart.

I suppose it was my fault. If I hadn't invited Emily over for a sleepover that one day, if I had kept Sam a secret and never introduced the two of them, this wouldn't have happened. However, if Sam had never changed into a werewolf, he would never have imprinted on Emily.  
And if Emily had declined my sleepover, if she had decided to go to another party that weekend and pass up her cousin in La Push, then this would never have happened.

So in the end, I guess we're all to blame. The peanut butter, the jelly, and the knife alike.

I used to hate her, you know. Used to hate my cousin Emily, for making Sam fall in love with her, for stealing him away from me. But it's hard to hate someone you love. Really, really hard.

I used to hate her so much that I fantasized at night. I fantasized sick, wrong things, like pushing her off the cliffs, laughing as her body was smashed to bits and pieces on the rocks below. I used to dream about her committing suicide in a very painful manner for some unknown reason. I imagined the whole getting hit by a bus theory. I imagined every possible way to kill her in the entire universe.

And then it happened. Me and Seth, we changed into werewolves, just like Sam had done. It was only then that I understood how and why Sam had left me for Emily. Not because he wanted to. No, far from it. He left me because he was forced to against his will.

But even then, I was angry with her. Except now it wasn't as much as it used to be. I was angry at myself now, too. Angry at myself for not being more understanding, angry at myself for being angry at the cousin who had been like a sister to me. Angry for being so closed minded.

My dad, Harry, died. From a heart attack from the shock upon learning that I had become a werewolf. And all that anger that I had changed into grief. I loved my dad, don't get me wrong. And I was really, really depressed for a time there.

But you know, I guess my feelings have changed. Towards everybody. Yes, I like thinking about things that the rest of my pack would rather forget. Why? I don't know. Maybe ever since I changed into a werewolf, my sadistic side came out a bit more and I like to see people suffer, just like I did when Sam broke up with me. Because the last thing I'd want to do is see Sam get hurt. Maybe somewhere deep in my subconscious, I want to get revenge for what he did to me, want to show him exactly how it felt. Those are the only few logical explanations that I can come up with.

I don't hate Emily. I really don't. It's too hard. And I don't hate Sam, either, because now I understand what he was going through and why he had to leave. But I'm still me, you know. I'm still just your average girl. I don't let heartbreaks go that easily. If I did...then heck. I might as well be a porn star in Taiwan or something. At least they don't have to deal with the aftermath of a broken relationship.

Emily is going on a road trip for a few weeks. I don't know what me and Sam are gonna do, because it's kind of awkward now sitting in each other's presence. But I guess we'll just have to put up with it.

And maybe, just maybe, that old peanut butter and jelly sandwich that once was might be able to be reunited again. Not in a romantic sense, of course, but just in a friendly, easy way. Maybe we could do that. It doesn't seem impossible.

Well, alright. Maybe not with some milk to wash the whole sticky mess that we used to be down. Said milk would probably be a distraction of Jacob. That boy, he can sure break the awkwardness with the most random things. Perhaps he could help reconstitute us, now not as a couple, but simply as friends.

A simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, not too smushed together in a child's lunchbox, but a sandwich made on pillowy, soft bread. Maybe Wonderbread. You know. To keep us cushioned so that we don't fall apart as easily as we did last time.


	2. Apple Juice

**You know, strange but true: I actually prefer peanut butter and jelly on crackers instead of bread...=D**

* * *

I informed Jacob about the whole peanut butter and jelly thing and how he could be the milk to reconstitute us. Being the stupid fool that he is (probably too dazed from too much time with that absolute monster that those bloodsuckers call a CHILD), he was all, "Run me by this again, but what do peanut butter and jelly sandwiches have to do with milk? Why couldn't it be apple juice or soda or something? You know, Leah, you gotta stop being so closed-minded. Not everybody likes eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk, ya know!"

So after I patiently (or as patiently as I could) explained how the whole peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk thing was kind of like an analogy that I liked to use about my, Sam's, Emily's, and his relationships all with each other, his eyebrows furrowed and he just looked at me for a moment. Then after finally running this not-so complicated sentence through his head, a long wait during which I wanted to chop his head off and stuff it down that little bloodsucking leech's throat, the leech of whom he had IMPRINTED, he asked me, "Okay...ummm...so...I'm the milk, right?"

I calmly explained to him that yes, he was indeed the milk and that he would help me resolve my conflicts of the past with Sam if he didn't want his right arm ripped out of its socket and force-fed to him.

Then he asked, "So...I can be apple juice instead of milk, right? Because I don't really like milk with my PB and J, Leah."

I stomped out of the clearing, throwing my hands over my head in a gesture of surrender. "Whatever, fool. Be whatever beverage you fucking want to be."

I could hear his laughter following me all the way out of the woods. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

* * *

Later that night, I helped Emily pack for her huge road trip. I wasn't exactly sure where she was going, but I knew it had something to do with San Francisco and Los Angeles and Seattle, and I thought that she was probably taking a road trip along the coast. We stuffed two huge suitcases full of clothes and toiletries and make-up kits for her, and we babbled about random things concerning Seth's choice of jeans to Quil's haircut, but I could tell she was awkward being around me. I didn't understand why.

When we were done and the suitcases were stuffed to the brim with her clothes, she turned to me.

"Leah," she said.  
"Emily."

"When I'm gone...you...you promise me that you won't, like, do anything with Sam, right? I mean, like, not like make out with him or anything?"  
"No, Emily. Seriously. I seriously won't. Swear on it."

She looked at me, and I think she was still suspecting that I probably would do something of the like. I mean, hello, people! I may like to torture other people by thinking sadistic thoughts and whatnot, but I, Leah, am not a slut! Good God! And for Emily...EMILY, to say something like this, that's practically like a slap in the face right there. And then for her to go and look at me like that...I almost exploded. But I didn't. I still loved her a whole lot, and it wouldn't do the reconstituting of mine and Sam's relationship as friends any points if I made her cry before she left for her big coastline trip. Emily always was very sensitive. Kind of ironic when you think about her role in the whole dramatic tragedy of me and Sam. Like the freaking Paris, Tybalt, and whoever else played a major role in Romeo and Juliet on the topic of Romeo and Juliet's relationship.

* * *

But I suppose there are some knives out there that are just really, really blunt. They can still cut you and everything, but it takes a whole lot more force for them to do it. Like a butter knife, for instance. It's really hard to cut yourself with one of those things (don't really know how Jacob pulled THAT one off, but...well...what can I say, right?), but you can still do it if you apply enough force. That was like Emily. She unintentionally applied a lot of force than was probably necessary on the topic of Sam, and she ended up nixing the whole relationship we had had.

I suppose, however, that the butter knife, while being dull and yet can cut with enough force applied, is also helpful to making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Because, I mean, the knife has to be the thing that spreads the peanut butter on one slice of bread and the jam on the other side. Without a butter knife, it would be a lot more difficult to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Seriously. What are you gonna use? A spoon? Well, I suppose you could use a spoon, but for the sake of the analogy, let's just say that it would be infinitely impossible to use a spoon to spread jam on a piece of bread.

If Emily had not left to take that road trip (she didn't actually need to go, you know), then Sam and I could never have had the peace, nor the privacy, to make up to each other. And no. Making up is not like making out. There's a word change.

If Emily had never left, like the person setting down the knife on the side of the counter to go and answer a telephone call, if she had never left to take that road trip, then me and Sam would never have been able to cook up a friendship out of the ashes of our tragedy.

Of course, the milk helped too. Excuse me, the apple juice. The apple juice helped A LOT. Helped me and Sam forget the last encounters we had with each other, helped me and Sam take new steps in a better direction for both of us.

* * *

And in the end, I suppose, the jelly ended up falling in love with the apple juice. But not until a lot more stuff happened.


	3. Cherry Pie

I have to give it to the boy. He actually does know how to set the mood. Okay. Excuse me. That came out completely wrong. Now let's try this again.

Jacob Black, the sole annoyance of my life and the single person whom upon being called stupid would be an insult to stupid people, knows how to break through an icy conversation by saying the most off topic stuff that you can imagine. That must be the only thing he's good at, because, I mean, seriously! I've known SHEEP that could outwit him. Come on, people, I don't care if you're a Jacob fan and own twelve of those pretty much not selling at all because everybody likes Team Edward better Team Jacob shirts, you have to admit, what idiot would cling to a butter knife for dear life and so hard that he cut himself? Wait for it...wait for it...no one. Except for Jacob, also known as Mr. Apple Juice and now the love of my life. Excuse me. Please forget that the word "love" was ever in that last sentence. Instead, replace it with Number One Annoyance.

Anywho, this story isn't really about Jacob, even though a good part of it would have been missing without him. This is not exactly a love story; it's just a story about two boys and two girls, a tragedy, but, most importantly, it's a story about making up and learning how to live again.

Now that I've gone all Dr. Phil on you, let's actually get to the point here.

Sam and I and Jacob and the rest of the pack were in a clearing, having those little special meetings of Sam's that helps him organize his thoughts while making us believe that it's not actually a group therapy session when, in reality, it is. I mean, we've got Sam, who is just Sam-ish and never does anything in these meetings except stare blankly into space and nod or smile once in a while so that it looks as though he's paying attention when he's really not.

Then you've got me. No explanation required.

And then there's Jacob, whom a sheep could beat at a game of chess even though sheep don't have opposable thumbs, and who cut himself with a butter knife, and imprinted on a little bloodsucking leech, and...well, the list goes on.

There's also Quil, who's looking to be going on the path of completely moral wrong with a capital W. You know, on account of his whole "I'm gonna make Claire fall in love with me when she's old enough and is able to have babies and her hormones are running wild. Then I'll make her see just how want-able I am." Or, in regular people speak, when Claire is thirteen and a moody teenager, she'll definitely come running to me for self-assurance and then we'll have rolls in the hay and might have little werehuman babies! That would be so cool! It would be, like, a hybrid baby, like Renesmee!!

While the rest of the members in the pack are fairly normal, I think Quil's level of insanity more than compensates for the others' lack of.

Anyway, after Sam declared the session over, Jacob invited both me and him to his house to have some pie. What did I tell you? Jacob really knows how to rebuild something out of ashes with the simple distraction of an extremely trivial thing, such as pie.

And what happened at Jake's house helped me and Sam remember what it was like to have been together and what it was like to just be friends.

The PB&J was back. Plus apple juice.


	4. Cream Puffs

**Sorry I've been gone for so long. Thank you all for your patience! **

* * *

We filed into Jake's house. I have no idea where his father was, but he was probably off with Bella's father, fishing and eating chips while talking about some really pointless thing.

Jacob decided to serve up some pie and cream puffs, and we all sat around the table, the only sound the forks clinking against plates and the sounds of people chewing. After a few moments of this comfortable silence, Jake decided to speak up.

"So, you guys, what's up?"

Sam's response: "Nothing much. You?"

Me: "Oh, just the usual. Thinking depressing thoughts, snarling viciously inwardly at everyone who's stupid, mainly someone who's sitting in this room and whose name starts with a J...You know, the usual."

Jake: "Oh, of course. And Emily, too, right? Although I'm sure you do your best to hide those from Sam, right?"

Sam stared at me. He was confused, yes. Me? I was angry. Angry at Jacob for revealing that. Angry at Jacob for ruining this perfect mood. But at the same time, I understood. You know, he's JAKE. He's very direct. It's not like he's going to sit there for hours on end and make small chitchat about the weather while this big topic is hanging in the air over us, waiting to be discovered and discussed to its full potential. No. Jake doesn't sit there and just take it. Jake does something. And in that way, I will say that Jake is much better than that stupid bloodsucker that that human girl is so madly in love with. That stupid leech would go and sit down for hours, days, weeks, months, YEARS even, just to get to a singular topic while discussing everything from agricultural gross national products of the country to elephant sex before getting to what he finally wanted to get to in the first place. You know, most people don't have that sort of time on their hands. And Jake likes to take care of things. (Somehow, the idea of Jacob talking intellectually about the topic of elephant sex just doesn't...appear to me at this current moment. But you never know. In a few years, Jake could be a professor at UC Berkeley and talking quite smartly about this very topic.)

Finally Sam spoke. "Is this true, Leah?"

I gazed at him evenly, my heart thumping in my chest. "Yeah. I guess so." I was quite proud of how steady my voice sounded.

And then, instead of yelling at me, he said, quietly and just the tiniest bit sadly, "Why, Leah, why? Why hide from me? Are you ashamed?"

I averted my eyes then, and said, "It's not that I'm ashamed of it, it's just...I'm jealous. I'm jealous that Emily could have you, I'm jealous that she is with you right now, I'm jealous that I can't be with you because she's with you. I....it's selfish, and I know that. I'm jealous of that. But I guess I'm not as jealous as I was before. Before I absolutely hated her and I wanted to do everything in my power to make her die, to eliminate her, to wipe her off the face of the planet so that I could have you back. Back then, I would have done absolutely anything to get you back. But now, I'm better. I don't need you as much anymore."

Sam sighed quietly, and then said, "I know you don't need me as much anymore. And I know that it's hard to not be jealous when someone you love gets together with someone else that you love right before your eyes. And you know what? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Leah. I shouldn't have done that to you. I shouldn't have done anything like that to you. You didn't deserve it. And...I know that this looks like I'm trying to move the blame away from myself, but...it was out of my control, Lee. I couldn't do anything about it. It was like Quil with Claire. He couldn't help it, and now he loves her like no other and he's probably planning to elope with her before she's a teenager so that he can impregnate her multiple times and they can have lots of little werehuman babies. It was like that...except without the werehuman babies."

Meanwhile, Jake, that schemer! was sitting at the head of the table, looking like he was holding court and occasionally nodding and "mm-hming" every once in a while. At the end of Sam's rather long speech, Jake piped up and said, "Well, that was nice. So, Leah, how does this make you feel?"

Okay. Cut. Excuse me. I just have to say something. My boyfriend Jake is many things. He is NOT, however, Dr. Phil or Oprah Winfrey or any other psychologist that goes on TV and asks these random pointless questions only to discover that the person is sexually retarded because they were sexually abused when they were little kids. Jake is NOT like that. And thankfully, that's a good thing. Probably one of the only good things about him. Okay. Back to the story now.

I eyed Jake rather distastefully, and then turned back to Sam and said, "Well, the part about Quil is true, but you hurt me, Sam. You hurt me."

Sam looked at me, then quietly smiled, and said, "I know, Leah. I know I hurt you. And...I guess what I'm trying to ask is...Forgive me?"

I grinned at that now, and responded, "Of course."

Unlike last time, there were no tears, no feelings of betrayal, no bad thoughts. And also unlike last time, Jake smiled and reached over the table to shake Sam's hand and then leaned back over to me to give me a hug. A hug to add the final dab of Neosporin so that the scar would fade away and leave a silky white mark on my heart.

* * *

Something I will always remember about that day is the cream puffs. They were the best cream puffs I had ever had in my life, and I remember wondering where Jake got them.

To this day, he's refused to tell me, but the one thing I remember about those delicious puffs besides the fact that they were sinfully tasty, was this:

The ivory white silk of the cream inside looked like my bedroom sheets. They looked like the bedroom sheets that Jake got me, well, us, for my birthday. The white sheets that looked like a new beginning, the white sheets that replaced the plaid ones of Sam's. The white sheets that reminded me of pillowy, soft Wonderbread.

The white sheets that looked perfectly alright in the lavender and blue room, the sheets that fit in perfectly with the brown furniture that looked like a darker version of peanut butter.

And so, in this room of Jake and mine's, everything was okay. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was back. With a few slices of apple on the side.


End file.
